


a promise of hunger

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, First Kiss, First Time, Homophobic Language, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Content, Vampires, still the 1980s, vampires eating people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: ‘You’re fucking insane,’ Steve says, ‘there’s no such thing as—’A tongue running along sharp teeth. Billy’s eyes flash. ‘You sure about that?’‘Yes,’ Steve says, but he doesn’t sound sure. Because Billy had bitten him and he has fangs and the sun burnt him.Steve meets a stranger at a bar, who changes his life with just one kiss.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 22
Kudos: 159





	a promise of hunger

**Author's Note:**

> There’s no tag for dubiously consensual vampire turning but I guess that’s a warning? More detail in end notes. I also wasn't sure if I should add a tag for murder because vampires eat people in most vampire stories, but I'm happy to add one in!
> 
> Also, this is darker than what I usually write—it’s not darkfic IMHO because I seem to be incapable of it, but darker for me? I tried to capture the vibe of _Near Dark_ 1987 because that was a big inspiration when I wrote this (as well as using several scenes for direct inspiration)

The guy has been watching Steve all night. At first, Steve wasn’t sure—might have been wishful thinking—but every time Steve looks over at him, he’s looking at Steve.

It’s not that kind of bar, but there is intent in his gaze that Steve is almost certain he’s not imagining. The way he gives Steve this up-from-under look, even from across the room, the dark fan of his lashes barely concealing the heat in his eyes. But it’s not that kind of bar, so Steve keeps his distance.

Sinks whisky like it’s going out of style, watches the guy as he licks his own drink from his lips, as he plays pool, as he slips a dime into the jukebox, a small smile tilting his lips when his song comes on.

Steve is alone—stood up by his date—but he doesn’t _feel_ alone, watching this guy, being watched by him.He goes to the bathroom and decides that, maybe it’s not that kind of bar, but he’s going to talk to this guy. Maybe ask him to play pool. Where would be the harm in that?

He washes his hands, anticipation buzzing in his blood, but when he gets out, the guy is gone.

‘Fuck.’ Waited too long.

There seems little point in hanging around—the bar had taken on a new shine while the other guy was here, but, now, it’s as fucking dull as it always is. So Steve slips his jacket on and goes outside, turning his collar up against the cold.

His breath mists in the air; he’s not looking forward to the walk home.

‘Got a light?’

Steve wheels around.

Out of the shadows, a figure emerges. The guy who had been watching Steve.

‘Huh?’

‘A light,’ the guy says, waving the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

‘Oh.’ Steve slips his hand into his pocket, then holds out his zippo. ‘Here.’

The guy puts the cigarette between his lips, takes a step closer to Steve. ‘Thanks,’ he says, but he doesn’t take the lighter.

‘Um.’ Steve shifts his weight, then with a shrug, he flips the lighter open. The flame bursts into life with a flick of his thumb, and he holds it to the end of the cigarette. It catches, glowing bright when the guy inhales. Steve flips the lighter closed and slips it back into his jacket.

The guy exhales a long plume of smoke, licks his lips. The light out here isn’t much better than the dingy lighting of the bar but Steve is closer, now, and Steve can see that he has blue eyes and too-pink lips and that he’s closer to Steve’s age than he’d looked.

‘You got a name?’ the guy says.

‘Steve.’ At the silence that follows, Steve says, ‘You?’

‘Billy.’ A flash of white teeth.

‘Billy.’ Steve’s eyes drift from his face to his leather jacket. It’s well-worn, decorated with pins and buttons. His pulse quickens when he reads the button pinned to the lapel: 'FUCK YOU I’M GAY.'

‘A picture would last longer,’ Billy says.

Steve blinks, looks back to Billy’s face. ‘Sorry.’ He flushes. ‘Guess I haven’t met a lot of guys like you.’ He winces. That was stupid.

But Billy only laughs, grinning sharply, and says, ‘Oh, sweetheart, you ain’t never met a guy like _me_.’

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, finds himself saying, ‘Is this where I’m meant to say something like, “You’re not from around here, are you”?’

A keenlaugh cuts through the air.‘Cute,’ Billy says. ‘And I guess this is where I say, “What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this”.’

‘Pretty boy, huh?’ It doesn’t sound like an _insult_ the way Billy had said it.

‘Mm.’ Billy takes one last drag from his cigarette then crushes it beneath the heel of a cowboy boot. He’s actually wearing _spurs_. Christ. ‘Wanna get out of here?’

Steve nods without thinking. ‘Where do you wanna go?’

‘You’re the local,’ Billy says, taking a step closer, ‘you tell me.’

Steve gives a helpless little shrug. He’s never done this.

But Billy says, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find somewhere,’ and hooks his finger into one of Steve’s belt loops.

When he pulls, Steve follows.

—

Cold brick presses against the small of Steve’s back where Billy has pushed his shirt up so he can get his hands on Steve’s stomach. The scent of trash and stale piss hangs in the icy air.

Steve pants into Billy’s mouth, hands tight at his waist beneath his leather jacket. He’s got one thigh wedged between Billy’s, their hips flush, grinding as Billy pushes him into the wall with each kiss.

It’s probably stupid to make out with a guy—a guy he just met—in the alley behind the bar, but it’s exciting, too. The danger of it. Thrilling. And Steve could do with thrilling.

Steve moves his hands to cup Billy’s face. ‘You’re cold,’ he says, frowning through his daze.

‘It’s a cold night,’ Billy says, then he licks a stripe up Steve’s neck, sucks at his pulse, and Steve loses himself in the sensation.

Billy presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, drags his nose from Steve’s collarbone to just below his ear. ‘You smell so fucking good,’ he says.

‘Um.’ Steve swallows.‘Thanks?’

But Billy only makes a small formlessnoise and sucks at Steve’s pulse again. Teeth grazing soft flesh.

It feels good. Really good.

Steve is about to ask Billy if he wants to come home with him because he doesn’t want to fuck in the alley. But before he can get the words out, Billy’s teeth are on his neck again. Harder, this time, sinking in and—

‘Ow!’ Steve pulls away, instinctively, at the sharp pain. ‘Did you _bite_ me?’

‘Yeah. Guess so.’ Red stains the white flash of Billy’s teeth.

Steve’s hand flies to his neck, and comes away wet. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he says, staring at the blood on his fingers. ‘What the fuck, dude?’

‘You taste real good, too.’ Billy licks his lips.

Steve shakes his head. ‘You’re a freak,’ he says, pushing Billy away, stumbling toward the alley’s exit.

Jangling footsteps follow him. ‘Hey, look, I didn’t mean to—’

‘Just fuck off,’ Steve says.

‘The sun will be up soon.’

This makes Steve pause, turn back. His heart beats hard behind his ribs.‘Uh…OK?’

‘You should be careful.’

‘Is that…a threat?’

‘You’ll find out.’

Steve gapes at Billy, shakes his head,then he walks off. Quickly. What the _fuck_?

—

Steve’s head is spinning and he feels hot and cold all over. His stomach turns and he’s barely able to keep himself upright.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, why he feels like this. Because, OK, he drank his fair share of whisky but being drunk has never felt like this. Maybe it’s the bite but it’s not like Billy drew _that_ much blood. Did he?

The sun is cresting the horizon and, though it’s November, Steve feels hotter than he ever has in the middle of July. Sweat beads on his forehead, prickles the back of his neck. His shirt sticks to him.

He takes his jacket off, pulls it over his head to shield himself from the dawn light. It seems so much brighter than usual.

He trips over his own feet, nearly falls, but he catches himself.

The roar of an engine makes Steve’s eardrums feel like they’re going to explode; a car pulls up beside him.

The window rolls down. ‘Get in,’ Billy says.

‘No way.’ Steve stumbles further down the road but Billy follows.

The car door opens.

Billy reaches out. Smoke curls from beneath his sleeve, rising up from his palm— No. Steve must be imagining it.

‘Come with me,’ Billy says, fingers crooked in invitation.

Steve looks from Billy’s hand, to Billy’s eyes, and takes a chance.He slides his hand into Billy’s—it’s hot to the touch, now—and lets Billy pull him into the car.

—

The windshield is painted black, only a small section clear for Billy to see out of, and there are towels and sheets and cardboard on the other windows.

‘What’s with all the—’ Steve waves a hand.

Billy raises a brow. ‘Me and the sun don’t get along too well.’

‘Uh, sure.’ Steve settles back into the seat and says, ‘Just take a left up ahead, my house isn’t far.’

‘I’m not taking you home.’ Billy casts a look at Steve. ‘You _can’t_ go home.’

‘OK, stop the fucking car.’ Steve reaches for the door but Billy pushes him back with a strong hand.

Billy’s palm lingers on Steve’s chest, fingers catching on the collar of his t-shirt. ‘Just…calm down, OK?’

‘Tell me what’s going on, or I’m getting out, and I don’t care if you’re still driving.’

Billy sighs. ‘Fine,’ he says, ‘but before I tell you, I didn’t mean to do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘I just wanted to fool around with you a bit but you smelt so damn _good_.’ Billy’s tongue darts out, like he’s trying to catch the taste of Steve.

Heat pools low in Steve’s gut, followed by a creeping sense of disgust that he could still feel— He shifts in the seat. ‘Uh, thanks?’

‘So, I didn’t mean to do it.’

‘Do what?’ The road rushes beneath the car, Steve’s blood roars in his ears. ‘Billy, what did you do?’

Billy looks over at Steve and says,‘I made you like me.’

—

The warehouse is cool and dark. Abandoned. Far away enough from town that they won’t be disturbed.

Steve’s ears haven’t stopped ringing since Billy said _I made you like me_ ; they’d driven the rest of the way in silence. Steve hadn’t known what to say—what did Billy even _mean_ —and Billy had only said to wait until they were somewhere safe.

That hadn’t made Steve feel any better, and he still doesn’t as he paces the warehouse, stomach churning, sneakers scuffing the concrete floor.

Billy is watching him. ‘You’ll wear a hole in the floor.’

_I made you like me._

‘What?’

‘Doesn’t matter how much you pace,’ Billy says, cigarette between his lips, ‘won’t change what’s happened.’ He pinches the cigarette in his fingers, ashes it with a flick of his thumb.‘Won’t change what you are.’

‘What am I?’ Steve says, pausing, turning to Billy. ‘What are _we_?’

Billy’s only answer is a smile—feral and gorgeous—sharp teeth gleaming in the grey light.

No, not teeth.

Fangs.

—

‘You’re fucking insane,’ Steve says, ‘there’s no such thing as—’

A tongue running along sharp teeth. Billy’s eyes flash.‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes,’ Steve says, but he doesn’t sound sure. Because Billy had bitten him and he has fangs and the sun burnt him.

And Steve feels—

‘No.’ Steve runs.

Billy’s voice calls after him, ‘You’ll be back.’

But Steve keeps running.

—

The stabbing pain in Steve’s gut is worse than anything he’s ever felt. Worse than the time his appendix burst.

His skin is coated with sweat and he’s shivering, hot and cold by turns.

And everything is just so _much_. Everything is too loud and too bright and he never noticed how much the world _stinks_. He nearly pukes about five times but he makes it to a bus station and buys a ticket to Hawkins.

‘You OK, son?’ someone asks.

Steve waves them away, even though he’s doubled over, clutching at his stomach.

And then he figures out what the pain is.

It’s hunger.

He stumbles to a vending machine in the corner of the station. His hands shake and he drops two quarters before he finally manages to get one in. He blindly presses the buttons, thrusting his hand into the flap to get the candy bar.

He shoves practically the whole thing in his mouth but it tastes _wrong_. Disgusting.

He spits it out, wipes over his mouth.

There’s only one thing that will satisfy his hunger now.

—

Steve goes back.

—

Billy is leaning against the trunk of his car, like he’s waiting for Steve.

Steve stumbles over to him, falls to his knees. ‘What’s happening, I don’t—‘ But he knows. He grabs at Billy, hands tight on Billy’s hips.

‘Hungry?’ Billy asks, voice low.

It sends a shiver along Steve’s spine. He nods.

Billy grins and then he bites into his own wrist, blood dripping down his forearm, and brings it to Steve’s mouth.

It should be disgusting, Steve thinks distantly, but it isn’t. It’s good and it’s right.His head swims but he feels like he’s coming back into himself. Finally.

He loops one arm around Billy’s hips, holds him tight as he drinks.

There is a groan, deep and low, and for a moment Steve thinks it’s come from him. But it was Billy. He’s hard against Steve’s shoulder, one hand fisted in Steve’s hair, and he’s breathing heavily.

Steve looks up, mouth still attached to Billy’s wrist, and oh—

Lustdizzies Steve’s mind, sudden and overwhelming. It’s been too long since anyone looked at him the way Billy does and it shoots right through him, arousal arrowing low in his gut.

Billy pulls his wrist away from Steve—Steve chases it, licking his lips—and hauls Steve to his feet. He kisses Steve, hands on his neck, thumbs tucked behind his hears.

It’s so fucking hot. So heady.

Steve presses Billy into the car, hands sliding from his hips to his thighs, pulling until Billy’s got one leg wrapped around Steve’s. His cock throbs against his fly, and Billy’s erection presses against his hip.

They thrust against each other, breaths hot and harsh, holding each other tight. It’s incredible and Steve knows that it’s not just because Billy is hot and Steve hasn’t got laid in too long. It’s more than that. So much more.

And then Steve comes.

It’s different. More intense. Shockwaves from head to toe, leaving him quaking.

‘Holy shit,’ Steve says, ‘that was—’

‘I know.’ Billy licks at Steve’s mouth, lapping at the blood still there. ‘And that’s only the beginning.’

—

They’re still somewhere in Indianawhen Steve asks, ‘What about my family? And my friends?’ He hasn’t thought about them in days, or maybe weeks—the passing of time feels different now—and a bolt of guilt hits him hard.

‘What about them?’ Billy asks.

‘They’ll be worried. I should tell them…something.’

‘They wouldn’t understand.’

‘What about yours?’

‘They’re gone.’

Steve doesn’t ask anything else.

But he does call home, gets the answering machine. He tells his mom he’s OK and that he won’t be back. What else can he say?

That he can’t come home, because he’s changed. Because he’s something she couldn’t even imagine.

It hurts, keenly, to think of it but when he turns and sees Billy watching, face impassive—waiting for him—the feeling slowly floats away.

Later, Billy lets Steve fuck him, splayed on the hood of the car, the stars shining down on them somewhere off the highway and Steve forgets about home for a while.

—

They drive and drive and drive, always under cover of darkness. Steve doesn’t miss the daylight as much as he thought he would.

Billy burns hotter than the sun, shines brighter. He’s fucking beautiful and Steve feels giddy with something that feels stronger than lust or infatuation.

They sleep in the car, more often than not, sometimes in sleazy motels. Fucking and feeding.

Steve never kills, himself, but he’s not sure if it makes any difference. If Billy kills, and Steve feeds from him, isn’t it the same thing in the end?

—

‘You can’t feed from me every night,’ Billy says, licking over the quickly closing puncture wounds in his wrist.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not enough.’

‘I can’t—’ Steve looks away. ‘I can’t _kill_.’

Billy snorts.

‘Oh, you find my opposition to _murder_ funny?’

‘I do,’ Billy says. He’s got his head propped on one hand, looking down at Steve. He’s naked, blood smeared on his face, his chest.‘You’re a monster, pretty boy. Just like me. Killing’s what we do.’

Steve shakes his head. ‘It can’t be that easy.’

A look passes over Billy’s face but it’s gone in a flash. ‘The way I see it, some people deserve to be my dinner.’

‘No one deserves that.’

Billy tips his head back, laughing. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.’

‘Who?’ Steve says. ‘Who deserves it?’

But Billy only rolls on top of Steve, presses Steve’s hands above his head, and kisses him. ‘You’ll find out,’ he says, ‘if you stick around long enough,’ and then he kisses Steve again.

—

The longer they’re together, Steve wonders if Billy was always this vicious, or if he learned to be this way.

The thought rises up like a wave of nausea, every time he watches Billy kill. And then something worse replaces it:

Will Steve be like this one day, too?

—

‘How old are you?’ Steve asks, one night, as they’re lying on the Camaro’s roof. A night bird sings somewhere in the distance, haunting. A cold wind whistles past.‘Who made you like this?’

Billy just gives him one of those grins and says, ‘Old enough,’ exhaling a plume of smoke and then, ‘No one you know.’

Steve sighs.

—

‘You don’t have to keep me around.’

‘Huh?’

‘Just because you turned me. I mean, you don’t have to feel obligated.’

‘I don’t.’

‘OK.’

‘You hungry?’

A sigh and then, ‘Yeah, I am.’

‘Then let’s eat, pretty boy.’

—

They follow the guy out of the bar. He’d been an asshole to everyone, shoving his girlfriend around. There was a bruise hidden by the swoop of her red hair that made Steve’s cold blood boil.

So when they follow the guy, Steve only hesitates a split second.

He doesn’t do it—he still leaves it to Billy—and it still sickens him to watch. But what Billy had said, about some people deserving it, starts to make sense.

The guilt he usually feels, feeding from Billy after he’s killed, isn’t so strong this time.

—

It gets easier and easier to watch Billy kill; Steve doesn’t feel as troubled by that as he thinks he should.

—

Moonlight sparkles on the water stretched before them. They’re sitting on a bridge, in some backwater town Steve doesn’t remember the name of.

‘I was born in 1905,’ Billy says, legs swinging, cigarette burning forgotten in his hand.

Steve blinks.

‘And I don’t remember who did this to me.’

‘OK,’ Steve says, and, ‘Thank you.’

Billy shrugs a shoulder, like it’s no big deal. Like he hasn’t just started to unravel the mystery of himself with two sentences.

But Steve lets silence fall again, and looks back out at the river.

The sound of the breeze and Billy’s breaths lulls him into a strange state—not quite sleeping, not quite awake—that he never experienced before.

Some time later Billy’s voice breaks through Steve’s daze: ‘I don’t want you around because I feel obligated.’ He looks at Steve from under his lashes, moonlight caught in his eyes.

‘Um.’ Steve swallows. And then he looks at Billy, how he’s looking at _him_ and—

Oh.

Something warm and bright wells up in Steve. He knows the feeling, now.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt like this.

‘Figured you knew.’ Billy blows out one last plume of smoke and crushes his cigarette.

Steve shakes his head, but he says, ‘I do now,’ and Billy grins.

Bigger than the moon and brighter than the sun.

—

The guy has been watching them all night.

At first, Steve wasn’t sure—he notices everything so much more now—but every time Steve looks over at him, he’s looking at Steve and Billy. Watching as they down their drinks, as they play pool, as they lean into each other, listening to their song on the jukebox.

It sets a cold, creeping feeling down Steve’s spine. He nudges Billy, says, ‘Maybe we should go,’ nodding in the guy’s direction, ‘I don’t feel too welcome here.’

Billy looks over at the guy, eyes half-lidded, then back to Steve. ‘Nah, I think we should stay.’

Steve sighs but he lets it go, focusses instead on the warm press of Billy’s shoulder against his. They’re in another small town, somewhere in Nebraska. Maybe. They’ve been driving for days, or weeks. Steve isn’t sure.

The bar reminds him of where he and Billy met. All bars in small towns start to look alike after a while, so maybe they all remind Steve of that bar back in Hawkins. The one where Billy changed everything with just one kiss.

Sometimes, it feels like Steve was waiting for Billy, those empty years after high school, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. Billy was definitely worth the wait, though.

Once, or twice, Steve nearly forgets himself when Billy looks over at him, or their hands brush, and leans in to kiss Billy. But he doesn’t. Billy might not give a fuck but Steve doesn’t want to draw more attention to them.

Especially with the way that guy keeps watching them, sizing them up. It won’t end well.

But then the guy knocks his shoulder into Billy’s as Billy passes by him on the way to the bar and Billy wheels around, asking, ‘Have you got a fucking problem?’

‘Yeah, we don’t want faggots in here,’ the guy says, flicking the button on Billy’s lapel.

A hot, prickly feeling curdles in Steve’s stomach. He flexes his hands by his sides.

‘Shit,’ Billy says, ‘guess I missed the “No Faggots Allowed” sign.’ He licks his lips and looks at Steve. ‘Did you see a sign?’

Steve presses his lips together and gives a small shake of his head. He’s not sure what’s going to happen but it’s _not going to end well_.

The few other patrons of the bar turn their way, sensing a fight.

‘So you’re a wise-ass too, huh?’ the guy says, stepping closer to Billy.

‘If you say so,’ Billy says, squaring up.

The guy has a good four or five inches on Billy and he’s built, but Steve knows Billy could take him without breaking a sweat. Either of them could.

But all the same Steve curls a hand around Billy’s forearm and says, ‘C’mon, just leave it.’

‘I’m not the one who started it,’ Billy says, chin jutted forward as he stares up at the guy.

‘Well, you can finish it.’ There’s something waking up in Steve, the longer he looks at this guy, smells the nastiness coming off of him in waves. Just like the guy who beat on his girlfriend. The one that made Steve realise that, yeah, maybe some people do deserve to be their dinner. If they don’t leave—

‘Yeah,’ the guy says, amused, ‘I wanna see you finish it.’ No one else seems amused.

‘OK,’ Billy says, and throws the first punch. Of course he does.

‘ _Billy_.’

The guy clamps his teeth, jaw showing white, wiping over his face with the back of his hand. His nose is bleeding.

The iron tang of blood hits the air; Steve’s mouth waters. The guy advances on Billy and Billy lets him fist his hands in his shirt, push him back into the bar. Billy’s laughing.

And Steve knows, he knows, this guy can’t hurt Billy, not the way Billy can hurt him, but he surges forward and pulls him off of Billy, anyway.

Then the guy rounds on Steve and says, ‘Don’t think I can’t take you, too,’ then slugs him with no further warning.

It _does_ hurt, in a distant kind of way, but Steve is dazed by it; blood trickles from his nose.

Billy pushes away from the bar, saying, ‘Well, _now_ I’m mad,’ but he’s grinning. The other guy gets one hit in, then two, before Billy hits him hard enough that he goes down.

No one else moves, no one else says anything.

‘Hey, _babe_ ’—Billy slings an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulls him tight to his side—‘you hungry?’ He licks at the blood on Steve’s face, a long swipe of his tongue along Steve’s upper lip.

The guy spits blood at their feet from where he’s still sprawled on the floor, starting to push himself up.

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, looking down at the guy, the taste of blood on his tongue, ‘I could eat.’

**Author's Note:**

> So, Billy turns Steve without Steve’s consent BUT Billy also didn’t mean to do it - he kinda ~lost control but I know that can read uncomfortably/have uncomfortable implications so I wanted to mention it! If you think I should add any other tags, please let me know! I have a bit of a blindspot when it comes to vampire stuff, so I wasn't sure which tags to use
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! :) I initially posted this for the week of love earlier in the year but I felt like I couldn’t have it on this account because it was a bit different to what I usually write, but I guess that’s kind of silly, so I’m posting it again! Fits for my ‘undead’ prompt for my [13 Days of Halloween too](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/tagged/13doh) :) I'm still super nervous, though.
> 
> If you prefer a lighter vampire fic from me, I [wrote one a couple of years ago that you can find here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862848)
> 
> If you’re into playlists, [I’ve got one here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6FuNNWInsjv0CiLw04mPSv?si=mUUkXytMSxmp9Y9EsnS7TQ)! (Please let me know if the link doesn’t work) 
> 
> I also have [a moodboard over on Tumblr!](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/632992774748274688/a-promise-of-hunger-m-4k-youre-fucking)


End file.
